


Moments, As They Grew

by cyprith



Series: Modern Magic AU [8]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprith/pseuds/cyprith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments over the passing months, all of them with ravens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments, As They Grew

**Author's Note:**

> barefootwithneonhands prompted: Raven lullabies  
> kittydesade prompted: Hugin and Munin  
> a-caffeinated-life prompted: jigsaw puzzles

Somehow, within a month, the nest migrated into Maleficent’s office.

With good reason, no doubt. Something critically important about proximity to natural sunlight and distance from unexpected breezes. All logical and aboveground, and in no way inspired by Diaval’s insistence she _get to know her godchildren._

Certainly not.  

Of course, it meant Diaval knocked even less than usual, practically setting up camp in the sunny corner of her office where his beasties slept. Balancing his laptop on his knees, he answered emails with one hand and dangled night crawlers with the other.

If her clients thought it odd she kept her assistant tucked in the corner of her office with a clutter of birds, no one dared to mention it.

And so the two of them sank into this new pattern as easily as they’d enjoyed the last… although, not without a share of mischief.

—

Late in an evening, well after they should have each gone home, Maleficent tilted her computer screen just enough to catch Diaval in her web-cam. Half asleep and running on fumes of too-strong coffee, he didn’t notice her filming. He carried on typing, unaware, croaking raven lullabies under his breath. 

She saved the file under _Posterity.avi_ and emailed it to herself.

And when next she found herself alone with Diaval’s phone—well, she had no _idea_ how a recording of his creaky singing made it as her ringtone. She had far, _far_ too much work to concern herself with such things. And even if she _had_ …

Days later, at home, Maleficent called him.

“You changed my ringtone!” he hissed, when he finally picked up the phone. “Is there a video? Tell me there is not a video! Where? _When?_ How did you even _get it_?”

Selecting a bottle of nail polish from her fridge, Maleficent hummed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Fingers must have slipped.”

And laughing, she hung up.

—

Diaval lay sprawled on the floor beside her wall of shelves, laptop balanced on his chest and two of the three ravens nesting in his stomach.

“The children are gonna need names soon,” he said.

Seated at her desk, bare feet curled up under her, Maleficent shrugged. Grumbling protest, the third raven resettled on her wing.

“Hugin and Munin?” she suggested.

“Goes without saying. But the third?”

“They’re your birds.”

Diaval glared up at her, pretending at offense, though the twitching of his lips somewhat spoiled the effect. “Madam,” he said. “These are not simply _birds_. They are _ravens_.”

Maleficent rolled her eyes. “The best of birds, I know.”

She returned to her email, sorting through an inbox full of order forms. On the floor, Diaval scrolled through _babynames.com_ and pretended to work.

“Why not name one after yourself?” she asked at last.

Diaval frowned. “She’s a girl, though.” But a moment later, his face lit. “Maybe I should name her after you. She certainly likes you well enough.”

Maleficent spared him a glance. “No.”

Too late, of course. Despite the protests of his birds, Diaval sat up, grinning.

“Could name her after us _both_ , then. What do you think of _Diavaleficent_?”

“I think it’s a wonder you managed to pronounce it.”

“Valicent, then?”

“No.”

“Madiaval? Diavicent?”

Maleficent sighed. “Maleval,” she said. “If you _must_.”

Seated on the floor, Diaval went still. Slowly, he smiled up at her, so bright and warm she felt it in her wings.

“Maleval,” he murmured. “I like it.”

“Yes, well.” Maleficent swallowed, cleared her throat. With some effort, she returned her attention to her collection of order forms. “Are you ready to get back to work then?”

Unabashed as ever, Diaval only grinned. “With you? Always.”

—

As summer approached—and with it, the season of aimless youth and break-ins—they took more and more of their work home. To Diaval’s home, today, a closer distance to their favorite pizza place.

Looking around with quiet approval, Maleficent hung her coat in the closet. As far as apartments went, she’d not been able to convince him to take a larger one. But he _had_ bought furniture—an over-upholstered couch and ancient coffee table the last time she’d gone with him—and so, finally, his place looked lived in.

“Just sweep the shit off the coffee table,” he said, kicking off his shoes and padding for the kitchen. “I’ll call the order in. Olives, yes?”

“Yes, please.”

 _The shit_ in question turned out to be a jigsaw puzzle. Maleficent set her armload of half-built prototype wards down on the floor instead, sat down on the couch amidst a squabbling raven brood.

By the time Diaval returned, she’d linked three pieces—the edge of a little cottage and a bit of garden, according to the picture on the box.

Seeing her, Diaval shook his head. “Should have known better than to tempt you with a project.”

Maleficent smiled, glancing up from her work. “I like puzzles.”

“I imagine you would,” he said, but he looked… wrong, somehow—small and tentative, razor-sharp with hope—and when he crossed to the couch beside her, he moved like creeping up on dragons.

“You sound as though you don’t,” she offered carefully, watching as he shooed Hugin and Munin from his seat.

This time, when Diaval smiled, the warmth of it caught in his eyes. “Oh, no. I hate puzzles roughly as much as they hate me.”

“Then, why…?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, fingers tracing the feathers of his tattoo.

Where she’d held him, Maleficent couldn’t help thinking, when she’d walked into his hell and half-carried him home. 

Quietly, barely glancing up, Diaval said, “My sponsor says I need a hobby.”

_Sponsor._

Maleficent’s wings sagged, losing months of tension she hadn’t known she’d carried.

So he had help, then. Good.

“Beyond the children?” she asked, gratified when Diaval laughed.

“He disapproves of the children,” he admitted. “But he likes puzzles, so…”

“Disapproves of the children?” Maleficent cocked an eyebrow. “He sounds terrible. Fire him.”

This time, when Diaval laughed, he sounded truly like himself—sounded happy and whole and mostly mischief.

“You know what, I will,” he said, flopping back against the couch. He looked at her, sprawled loose and easy, their knees almost touching, and grinned. “I’ll get a new one. A better one.”

Maleficent smiled, swallowed past the butterflies clotting up her throat.

“Good,” she said as Maleval snuck down her elbow and stole a corner piece. “I’m happy to hear it. Now help me find the garden.” 


End file.
